Ruby Skies
by Lazerwolf314
Summary: Three months into Project Dakota, Andy and Nick vanish without a trace. Four months later, Sam and Gail get a call about a disturbance at an abandoned building. AU branch off of the end of Season Three. Weekly updates. Warning: it gets dark.
1. Prologue

_Ancient mariner rhyme:_

 _Red skies in morning, sailors take warning._

* * *

Three months into Project Dakota, Andy and Nick vanish without a trace.

Luke gets the call from Blackstone in the wee hours of the morning, as the first glimmers of dawn begin to stain the sky. Blinking away the grit of sleep, he groans and rolls over, cursing softly when the sheets tangle about his legs. Stretching the rest of the way, he reaches out and snatches up the phone vibrating a small path across his nightstand.

"Callaghan," he rumbles in greeting, dropping his head back onto the pillow with a grunt.

All of five seconds later has him shooting upright, sleep burned away in an instant flood of adrenaline. Stumbling from the bed in a flurry of motion, he hunts up a pair of jeans that had been discarded on the floor mere hours ago, all while he snarls into his phone.

"Say that again," he barks, cramming the phone between his shoulder and ear as he hops his way into the pants.

"McNally and Collins are missing; they missed their check-in yesterday and none of my guys have been able to get in contact with them," Blackstone says gruffly.

"And why am I just hearing about this now?" Luke growls, hauling on a shirt in the dark by muscle memory and instinct. Moving around the bedroom with ease, even in the lack of light, he snags a sweater from the chair by the door and moves deeper into his apartment.

"Common Callaghan, you know how it is with undercover ops, sometimes get delayed. It's not a reason to jump the gun or overreact," Blackstone mutters, coming in petulant and tinny through the small speaker.

Biting back a spew of vitriol that will do neither of them any good at the moment, Luke stops in the kitchen to close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"How long since they were supposed to have checked in?" Luke asks, working to keep twin streams of anger and slowly building fear from leaching into his voice. Because he does know how it is, sometimes check ins have to be missed in order to maintain a cover, sometimes rules get a little bent in order to get evidence. But Andy is involved.

In the long pause filled with nothing but the faint sounds of traffic fill Luke's ear, he moves to his office to grab the lockbox containing his firearm and his go-pack.

"Just over thirty-six hours."

This time, a string of vicious curses slide free before Luke can reign them in and, on the other end of the line and several kilometers away, Blackstone winces. Letting out a harsh breath, Luke continues through his house in the dark to grab his keys from the counter.

"I'll be at the cover apartment within the hour," Luke snaps into the phone as he shrugs into his jacket and stomps into his boots. "I'll see you there," he continues, offering no room for argument, before hanging up and slamming his way out of his home. He spares the briefest second of guilt for his neighbors, but it's quickly drowned out in another wave of worry for his officers.

For Andy in particular, who will always hold a special place in his heart.

Andy, who he knows would never go this long without checking in with her handler if she could help it, because that's just the type of person she his.

Slipping into his vehicle, he flicks it on and rolls into the night brushed at the edges with an ever darkening pink.

True to his word, Luke finds himself standing outside the cover apartment within the hour. Across the street, Blackstone steps out of his car and jogs over to Luke's side.

"I'm guessing you've already been inside," Luke comments, the implied _because you can't be that much of an idiot_ hanging heavy in the air between them.

"I have; nothing's out of place, no signs of a struggle or anyone else being inside."

Nodding to himself, Luke leads the way inside. Flicking on the lights, he takes in the small kitchen with two coffee stained mugs in the sink and the blanket thrown haphazardly across the couch. Down the hallway, the lights in the bathroom spills light into the darkened corridor and coating the bedroom doors.

"Alright," Luke says as he moves deeper into the room, eyes scanning everything and filing everything he sees away. "Run it through for me, starting with the last week up until what they were supposed to have been doing right before the missed check-in."

Outside, the sky grows lighter by the moment, morphing from black to a deep blood red, shadows stretching like claws across the city.

By the time the sun finally cracks the horizon, all of Division 15 has been placed on alert about their missing officers and in a long abandon cellar, chains clink softly on a cracked concrete form.

* * *

 _Ooh look, new things._

 _Blame the plot bunnies._

 _And other uncontrollable factors._

 _Anyway, this is set pre-season 4, so before we knew what Project Dakota actually was (so I can have some fun with it hehehe)_

 _Hearts always, A._


	2. Chapter 1

Four months after the disappearance of officers Collins and McNally, three months, three weeks, and four days after Project Dakota had been declared a bust, and three months, three weeks, and three days after a full-scale investigation into the missing officers, Sam and Gail respond to a disturbance report in the south side of the city.

"1504, we've got a report of a disturbance down on Liberty Street, unconfirmed report of vandalism, please advise," Dispatch crackles in loudly through the silence of the squad car. Gail reaches for the radio absently, not once looking away from the streets as they flow through traffic.

"This is 1504, acknowledged," she says crisply into the device before replacing it back in its holster.

"Copy that 1504, Dispatch out," the dispatcher responds and rattles off the address.

Wordlessly, Sam flicks on the lights and presses the gas. There's no need for them to talk, neither of them willing to muster up useless chit chat much these days. In fact, neither of them does much these days outside of working, eating, sleeping and occasionally getting black out drunk at one another's apartments. On good days, Gail will flirt half-heartedly with one of the lab techs and Sam will accept Oliver's various invitations to play pool, poker, anything to get Sam out into the real world every so often.

On bad days…

( _thunderstorms of memories accompanied by chasers of alcohol as guilt churns through their guts like poison._ )

Sam and Gail grew close during those first three months, bonding over their abandonment by their respective counterparts. During that time, plenty of beers and bitching was split between the two, reinforcing their bond and slowly turned into a friendship most of the division scratched their heads at. Sam Swarek and Gail Peck? Like fire and ice.

But in their mutual heartaches, it works for them.

Together, along with the balm of time, they start to patch themselves back together. It starts with a workplace banter and casual drinks at the Penny, but slowly morphs into making sure the other has food in their respective apartment and Sam begins bouncing case ideas off Gail, amused with her dry humor and quick intelligence, while Gail, in turn, asked for contracting advice and eventually enlisted Sam's help in re-modeling her apartment.

They did get into a paint war while painting the living room.

For awhile, the entire division thinks they're sleeping together.

( _there was one strange night, after a weird combination of beer chased with tequila shots, where both of them consider it, a long humming moment of tension snapping between them as they sit at the bar, the void of McNally and Collins heavy on their shoulders._ )

( _they avoid each other for a few days after that, not quite willing to touch on something that could be but shouldn't._ )

After the first month, 15 gets a new transfer in the form of Marlo Cruz. She's smart, quick and fiery; Sam likes her instantly. Gail notices and, because she's Gail, thinks its perfect and tries to meddle.

Sam ignores her prodding.

By the second month, the strange pair is mostly put back together. Gail stop verbally abusing Dov every chance she gets, not completely obviously, and Sam starts returning the flirtatious barbs with Marlo.

Two days before everything turns on its head, Sam agrees to get drinks with Marlo, drinks that are more than just drinks between friends. Drinks that are something more. The next morning, they come into work together in Sam's truck, small smiles shared just between the two of them.

Gail's just getting in to work herself and sees it, and her smirk is strong enough to power a cruiser.

For a little over thirty hours, he is happy and Gail is content, she has dinner the night before with her brother and Tracy, laughing over wine and swapping stories.

And then their straw houses come tumbling down.

"Alright everyone, settle in, we've got something important to talk about," Best barks when everyone files into Parade that morning. "Go ahead Callaghan," he adds, stepping to the side and letting Luke take the floor.

Sam sits up straighter when he takes in Callaghan's appearance; the pale eyed detective looks bone tired, with a smattering of stubble decorating his jaw and eyes sunken in deep bags that look like bruises. Gone is the usual dress shirt and overcoat, tie nowhere to be seen; instead he stands in a rumpled hoodie and jeans, looking like he hasn't slept in days or eaten in even more.

"As of this moment, there is a lookout in place for officers Collins and McNally of this division, who have been on an undercover op for the past three months," Luke begins, pinning their ID photos to the board. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam sees Gail stiffen, feels a similar reaction bolt down his own spine. He can feel Oliver and Marlo's eyes on him, knows the other rooking from the same class have all jerked to attention, but all his attention is arrowed in on Luke.

"Now, this lookout has not been broadcast over official channels because there is a still chance McNally and Collins have gone dark on purpose," here Luke pauses and grimaces, almost as if he's disagreeing with what he's just said. Sam relates; he knows Andy and he knows she wouldn't go dark like this. "But if we have nothing by five pm tonight, they will have been missing for forty eight hours and the lookout will be changed to a manhunt."

Luke pauses to pick up a file from the podium, but doesn't open it, just holds it, staring at it for a long second.

"So keep ears open today everyone and, if heaven forbid, we reach that forty eight hour mark, everyone will be briefed on Project Dakota. For now, if any thing surfaces, let me know immediately. That's all from me, I have to get to a meet. Best," Luke adds, nodding to the staff sergeant and sweeping out of the room with his phone already in hand. Every eye tracks the movement, before several of them settle on Sam and Gail. Sam ignores them all in favor of pulling out his phone and checking it in the vague, deranged hope there's a message from Andy. Gail begins shredding a napkin she found in her pocket.

"Okay, assignments are on the board and hopefully, our officers will be located quickly," Best announces to the room, triggering a flurry of movement. Sam and Gail remained still in the eye of the storm.

When the 48 hour mark comes and goes, they each close down a little bit more, fear coming in stronger with each passing hour. Because they are cops, they hope for the best but both assume the worst. And in this case, the worst is unthinkable.

* * *

 _A/N: Just a heads up, most of the chapters will flicker between past and present._

 _Hearts always, A._


	3. Chapter 2

When Sam pulls up to the curb, he watches impassively as a trio of cold eyed teens melt away from the alleyway between two decrepit buildings across the street. There's no point in trying to chase them down; by the time Gail and Sam's boots hit the street, the teens will be long gone. Flicking off the engine, he gets out and walks around the vehicle to stand next to Gail, both studying the dilapidated building they've been called to in silence.

The squat box hunches between two buildings of similar make, a sad smear of neglect common to this part of the city. Each are brick lumps with boarded up windows all festooned with a veritable rainbow of graffiti. The padlock around the handles of the double door is in pieces on the doorstep, the left hand door a few inches ajar. The city seal has been broken, the warnings that the building is condemned blatantly ignored. The chain link fence that encircles the property, including the buildings to the left and right, has a person sized hole cut into the metal links.

"I think we can confirm vandalism," Sam comments drily and Gail just rolls her eyes. Leading the way, Sam ducks through the gap in the metal fencing and growls when he feels one of the jagged ends catch on the shoulder of his uniform shirt. It bites in, tearing a small hole in the fabric and scraping flesh. Ducking his shoulder, Sam pops out the other side and glances at the damage, feeling his already dark mood blacken at the sight of a thin trickle of blood staining his torn uniform.

Gail wiggles through a second later, spared the same fate thanks to her tiny frame and offers a sympathetic pat on his unmarred shoulder.

Grumbling under his breath, Sam follows Gail to the doorstep, pausing when Gail halts with a strange light in her eyes.

"I have to give them points for creativity," she states, head tilting to further examine the anatomically correct penis in the middle of trying to have sex with what looks like a pig with a beard. The bricks to the right of the door are defaced with the depiction, a splash of red and blue. "Do you think they're trying to tell us something?" Gail asks, not expecting a response.

She isn't surprised when Sam only huffs, the quickest flash of amusement before it's swallowed by the black hole.

After another long second studying what could only loosely be called artwork, she sighs and leads the way to the doorway, pausing at the entry and carefully nudging the door further in.

"Is anyone here? This is the police, if there is someone here, announce yourself now," she calls out, voice echoing in the large open space. They stand in silence for a moment, listening for a response, Sam a black thundercloud at her back. She thinks briefly about trying to cheer him up, but decides its too much effort for the both of them.

With a tilt of her head, Gail leads the way inside, hand going automatically for the flashlight at her belt to cut through the gloom. As the two officers flashlights illuminate the open concept first floor, the scent of stale pot tickles at their noses. A quick movement of their lights show two battered and dirty couches at the center of the room with musty blankets in a circle on the floor and an overflowing ashtray in the center. A half-eaten sandwich is growing green by the foot of the couch, evident that the place hadn't been used for some time or the potheads had forgotten their food.

"Someone's party got interrupted," Gail comments dryly.

They move through the gloom silently, ears pricked for any noise or signs of life, empty hands hovering about their side arms, just in case. Sweeping through the main floor reveals a few more pieces of furniture in a variety of states and a handful of empty beer bottles, but not much else. Finding a staircase near the back of the building, they move through the upper floor carefully, steps light on creaking stairs.

The upper floor is much the same as the main, devoid of life but separated into a few smaller rooms and two threadbare mattresses indicating someone had been squatting at some time. There are no recent signs of life, save for a family of mice who have nested in the center of one of the abandoned mattresses, to which Gail crinkles her nose in disgust and Sam simply ignores.

As they search the building, they don't speak; there is no need. After spending the last few months in such close contact, Sam and Gail can read each other's intentions through body language.

( _they both know it's strange, their connection, but it works for them_ )

Eventually, they determine the upper floor is clear and head back down the stairs. The small thrums of pain from the cut on his shoulder are an annoyance, but he can't help but be thankful for the mandated tetanus shots the officers received every few years.

As Sam rounds the bottom of the staircase, something catches his eye and he pauses, studying the expanse of wall just along the base of the stairs. Gail thumps down the last few steps and stops, glancing between Sam and the wall.

"What is it?" she asks quietly, trusting Sam's instincts and, if things had been different, knows Sam would've made detective already. He sees things that she'd miss.

( _not that she'd ever admit that_ )

"Why would someone put up a poster of a metal band at the base of the stairs?" Sam muses, moving closer to the faded poster in question. The black mood is pushed back in the face of a new mystery, and he frowns at the wall.

"Why do people do anything?" Gail responds as a counterpoint, but she's become curious as well, moving to Sam's side.

Sam steps forward and runs his hands lightly over the dusty poster, leaving finger trails in the dust as he feels around the sides. When his fingers brush over a small seam hidden by the poster, he freezes, a feral grin blooming.

The pain in his shoulder is forgotten.

( _the hunt is on_ )

Reaching up simultaneously, both officers grab the top corners of the large poster and pulls, tearing the paper off the wall with a loud rip. Two scraps remain stuck stubbornly to the top, but the rest tears away and leaves behind the outline of a door, with only a scar in the wood signalling a door handle had ever been there.

"Shall we take a look behind door number one?" Sam asks, something almost playful entering his tone. This is what brings him out of the slump these days; the hunt, the mystery.

Gail's answering grin is nearly as feral and together, they rear back and kick in the old wood. It explodes inward, chips of rotted wood flying in all directions, revealing a dim passageway and a set of stairs downwards.

Exchanging looks, Sam and Gail both draw their firearms at the same time, before Sam leads the way into the darkness, flashlight cutting thin paths into the dark maw. Stepping lightly on the bits of broken door, they make their way into the basement.

At the bottom of the stairs, the area doesn't open up much, leaving them in a narrow corridor filled with years of junk. As Sam moves his flashlight cautiously around the space, he sees a broken push lawn mower, several rusted metal bed frames, a handful of cardboard boxes that had begun to mold, and an assortment of building materials. Stepping carefully over loose piping, Sam edges cautiously down the hallway, eyes taking note of three doors down the right side and one at the very end.

The two officers pick their way carefully through the scattered garbage, stopping just before the first doorway. It's open, the door absent, and they swing around the edge together, sweeping through the empty space. There's nothing inside but a broken table, on its back like a turtle and missing two of its legs.

They repeat the same sweep with the two other doors on the right side of the hall, each missing their doors, but all absent of life. Each holds the overflow from the hallway, trash and smelly furniture being paramount.

When they finally reach the door at the end of the hallway, both of them have an inexplicable feeling of dread skating down their spines.

( _thick tension, a heaviness at the back of their throats. the locked door is the only outward clue that something is wrong but they both feel it. it feels like blackness in their limbs and fear in their hearts_ )

( _some would disregard it offhand as a simple overreaction. others would call it instinct. some primal nudge to look closer, to know that something awful is coming_ )

( _Sam has felt this once before, back before Andy's round of rookies had made it to 15. he and Oliver had been on a routine sweep much like this one. they had found a child porn distribution ring in the attic. there are some things Sam will never be able to erase from his head. the sick rage in his belly that day had been a prominent feature in his nightmares for a long time_ )

For a long moment, they study the thick bolt and padlock combination in silence. The door itself is a heavy metal, thick and sealed in at the seams, with no light spilling from beneath. Sam sets his flashlight on the top of the nearby bedframe, leaving them illuminated in its small beam.

"I'll grab the bolt cutters," Gail whispers, not wanting to draw attention to their presence until they know what's on the other side of the door.

She slides away and Sam listens to her boots as they thud softly above him.

She returns only a few minutes later, heavy bolt cutters in hand and she sets them against the padlock, features drawn and weary with the strange tension they both feel. With a quick motion, the lock is clipped and it clatters to the cement floor, chain sliding free with it. Stepping back, Gail sets the bolt cutters on the ground and re-draws her gun, nodding to Sam to signal she's ready.

Nodding back, he reaches out and slides the bolt free.

On a mouthed count of three, he pulls back on the bottle and yanks the door open.

Gail surges forward, leading with her flashlight and gun, Sam directly on her heels.

And they step into a hell they never could have imagined.

* * *

 _A/N: I am truly debating on whether or not I should switch the rating on this to M because it's going to get daaaarrrrk._

 _Thoughts and opinions always appreciated._

 _Hearts always, A._


	4. Chapter 3

The first thing Sam notices is that the room is small.

( _it's not actually the first thing he notices but it is the first thing he processes because what's before him is too horrifying to comprehend so his mind just skips right over it, stone skidding across the surface of a dangerous lake_ )

( _self-preservation 101_ )

His first apartment was large than this, and that was a shitty one room box on the wrong side of town with plumbing that worked only a quarter of the time and a next door neighbour with a habit of passing out in his doorway. But at least there, he felt like he had room to breath. Here, the walls feel like they're closing in.

( _he doesn't know why he's thinking about his first apartment, just that it's better than the alternative and he needs another minute before hell can become reality_ )

It's roughly the size of one of the interrogation rooms at 15 Division, with a low ceiling and the only light coming from another room off to the left. Sam can just make out the shape of a toilet partially hidden by the half opened door. The room is concrete box on all sides with no windows and the air itself is stale and cold.

He feels a chill.

( _maybe it's the air that's cold or maybe it's his heart_ )

At his side, he feels a disturbance in the air and knows that Gail is trembling.

The gun in his hands bobbles with quakes he doesn't feel.

Letting himself have one more selfish minute, his gaze darts to the right and, beyond where Gail stands breaking just as he is, he takes in the industrial shelving units taking up half the right wall, all littered with peanut butter, crackers, and beef jerky. Most of the packaging is empty, leftover plastic piled in a far corner, and the other half of the wall is blocked by what remains of a pallet of water bottles. The empty bottles are stacked in a small fort around the packaging from the jerky and crackers.

And in the center of the room…

( _nightmare_ )

In the center of the room is a mattress, dirty and torn in places, spilling stuffing onto the floor like blood oozing from wounds. Piled on it are several dirty blankets, full of holes and stained.

And wrapped in those blankets…

( _the stone stops skipping and tumbles into the depths_ )

( _worse than either of them imagined, because, even though Sam and Gail would never admit to even themselves, after all this time, they had pictured them dead. death would be a mercy if they had been like this for four months_ )

Blinking at the two officers owlishly, dwarfed in their dirty blankets and huddled around each other, the ghosts of Nick and Andy watch them with a curious light in their eyes. Their eyes seem to bulge out of their drawn faces, skin pale and unhealthy. Their cheekbones stand out prominently and, although Nick's neck is mostly hidden by the scraggly wisps of unkempt beard, Andy's throat is a mix of dark shadows and visible veins. The rest of their bodies are concealed by the blankets, but Sam's mind is slotting together pieces of this horrible puzzle and knows that they are not okay.

They are very, very far from okay.

For a long moment, the missing officers and their former counterparts remain locked in a strange staring contest.

Then Andy lets out a huff and rolls her eyes, fingers flickering against Nick's arm. A noise akin to a snort emerges from him and he too looks away, both of their attention returning to the battered paperback book open between them. There's a pencil tangled in Nick's fingers, fingers that look more like a skeleton's than a living human. He goes back to scratching words into the margins of the pages while Andy looks on, silent save for the occasional hums of sound.

"Andy?" Sam whispers at the same time Gail breaths, "Nick?"

They are ignored. Unconsciously, the two guns lower.

Because there is no thought right now.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Sam and Gail move into the room, not daring to move quickly in case the two waifs are startled and vanish before their eyes.

When they get no reaction, Gail feels as though she's lost control of her body, as though she's floating two feet outside it looking in. Thinking about the sight before her is drawing a scream to her throat, a noise she is forced to trap.

This cannot be real.

This is real.

Sam isn't thinking.

Sam doesn't even think he's breathing.

On automatic, his hand reaches for his cell phone, bypassing the radio in pure shock. When he pulls it free from the uniform pants, he dials without looking.

"Hey Sammy what's up?" Oliver's voice comes in too loud and too happy.

No one should be happy right now.

With a broken sound, Sam speaks. "We found them," is forced out at a whisper. "We need medical. Jesus. Oh my Jesus."

Unbidden, the call to the deity slips out.

"Found who… Oh god, Sammy where are you? Are they okay? What's going on?" Oliver snaps out, urgency thundering through his voice.

"Dispatch has the address, no, my god no, I don't know, get here fast," Sam speaks rapidly, pleading with himself or Oliver he isn't sure, before hanging up with numb fingers.

Gail approaches the bundles of abandoned humanity carefully, weapon returning to her holsters as she moves, when her boots brush against something that clinks. Jolting, she looks down to say two chains leading from beneath the blankets to a heavy bolt in the floor between the mattress and the small bathroom.

For a very long time, she doesn't understand what it is.

When she does.

When she does, the scream turns into a sob and tears spring out of nowhere. Clamping her hand over her mouth, the tears spill when the movement and noise garner no reaction from Andy or Nick, who seem hell-bent on ignoring their presence, but continue to communicate in a way neither Gail nor Sam can understand.

Sam doesn't want to know what that means.

Sam needs to know what that means.

It's only when Gail finally crouches down, tears on her cheeks, next to Nick and reaches out with shaking fingers to touch his shoulder do they get a reaction.

The very real scream rips at their ears as Nick jerks away from the touch, toppling over Andy in a desperate attempt at escape. The chains that bind their ankles to the floor rattle with the movement, metal sliding over metal in a harsh scrape. As Nick scrambles back, Andy's gaze darts between him and Gail, fear sparking to life in a flare. The two lost officers both have terror painted on their faces and they both make keening noises like wounded animals. Wrapped as they are in their blankets, they both hunch in the fabric and press as close as they can to one another, nearly spilling off the opposite side of the mattress to get away. Eyes bug out of the skeletal skulls as they stare, disbelief and fear prominent.

Gail jumps backwards at the reaction, tripping over those damned chains and landing heavily on her ass. Sam flinches violently at the sounds coming from the two on the bed.

( _the cold fear grow colder, claws latching at their throats and the two uniformed officers feel their hearts shatter_ )

...

When the door to their home ( _prison_ ) bursts open, flickers of hope dance through both Nick and Andy for a briefest of seconds before they can squash it.

They've been hallucinating a lot recently.

This isn't a new addition to their visions; Sam and Gail appearing is actually one of their most prominent delusions.

They aren't even surprised that they have matching delusions; only in the beginning did they really have separate visions, but now, they usually see the same specters. The specters that pop by for chats that leave them hopeless and just a little more broken. They never bother analyzing why.

When neither of the hallucinations say anything, just stand still with their guns drawn, Andy huffs and flicks at Nick, a quick communication of _not this again._

His answering snort tells her he feels the same.

( _the book in their lap is slowly being filled with the last wills and testaments of Officers Nick Collins and Andrea McNally_ )

The hallucinations have been driving them both mad and they know it.

It's better if they don't interact with it; the conversations that have flowed in this space between them and their delusions has stripped them bare and brings forth more hope than they can deal with.

Besides, they had eaten the last of the jerky four days ago.

The one hundred and twenty six tally marks dug into the wall above their mattress is a map of their time here. They've used a piece of broken ceramic from the toilet back to make the marks, but now it lies, forlorn and ominous, on the floor nearby.

They stopped counting yesterday.

( _the decision was made easily enough. why fight to continue to live when they knew they lived on borrowed time anyway_ )

Ignoring the visions is easy enough, even when the ghosts say their names. Names that hold no meaning anymore, not really.

Eventually the fake Sam and Gail will leave again, as they always do, and they will remain, as they always will.

The visions of Sam and Gail are the worst, usually because they become accusatory towards the end. Torturous, blaming them for their own abandonment, that they would've been fine if they had stayed and worked things out, that this was just karma for their fleeing. So it's better to ignore the ghosts.

With a high pitched hum, Andy asks Nick to _scratch that out_ when he starts scribbling about blame; the ghosts are already doing their work. With a grumble, Nicks asks _why_. She glares and they have a silent fight with their eyes, words useless between them after all this time. As they fight, their ears pick up the sounds of boots moving across their space, but as they've gotten hungrier, the visions have gotten more and more real, so it's easy to ignore.

Barring teeth into a morbid grin, Nick trills, a simple _I win_ , while Andy just rolls her eyes, jabbing a finger into his ribs even as she accepts his reasoning.

They're bitter.

They're dying.

They can blame whoever the hell they want.

For a moment, they can forget about the hallucinations lurking over their shoulders, and they are perfectly content to do so until the Gail ghost reaches out and touches Nick.

The hallucinations never try to touch them.

When the feeling of someone other than Andy laying their hand on his shoulder processes, Nick jolts as if burnt by the fires of hell themselves, scrambling desperately away from the ghost who can touch them. His body collides with Andy, but she just shuffles backwards, making room for him and pressing close to his back, chirping fearfully as he keens. They wrap around each other with ease, ignoring the clink of chains that they have now learned to navigate without getting tangled. The presence of one another brings little comfort in the face of this new development.

 _Touch touch touch_ , is all Nick can formulate and it's enough to flood them both with terror.

Touch means real.

Real means…

Real means hope.

* * *

 _A/N: See what I mean by dark? M rating is looking more and more likely._

 _Thoughts and opinions always appreciated._

 _Hearts always, A._


	5. Chapter 4

Luke is driving aimlessly through the city when he gets the call, roaming around with buzzing bones an hour before he has a meet with a confidential informant. He has long since given up trying to do paperwork when he gets like this; his body is restless and his mind a torturous trap that insists on tormenting him with his failure every moment he isn't occupied.

After four months with no evidence, no contact, and no leads, his mind has been gleefully pointing out that Andy and Nick are very likely dead. That he failed as a detective in charge of an operation. That he failed the missing officers. That he failed.

When his cell phone rings, a loud chirp accompanied by the rattle of phone against hard plastic cup holder, Luke merely grimaces, not particularly wanting to interact with anyone at the moment. The display shows its Shaw calling and he sighs. The senior uniform doesn't make personal calls, especially not to Luke, so he knows whatever Shaw is calling about is important.

"Callaghan," he rumbles into the cell, tapping it onto speaker phone and setting it back in the cup holder.

"They've been found," Oliver exclaims without preamble, strange excitement making him speak loud and fast. "Sam and Gail found them," he continues before Luke cuts in.

"What? Who's been… Where are they?" Luke demands, an emotion he can't name flooding his system. He feels like he's grabbed a live wire, electric energy a burst; Oliver doesn't need to say their names, he knows what he means.

( _Luke had begun to think this day would never come and because of that thinking, there are two empty bottles of whiskey in his trash and a half empty bottle of another, mouth always tasting like something died in it_ )

As Oliver rattles off an address, Luke flicks on the lights and sirens to his undercover cruiser and presses on the gas. By luck or by chance, he's been roaming around that same part of the city and is only about a minute away.

"Are they alive?" Luke asks hesitantly, dreading the answer and expecting the worst.

"I think so; Sam wasn't very forthcoming," and here Oliver's voice cracks, his own fear for the missing officers creeping in.

( _how could they have been so close and not found until now_ )

"Medical is already on route," Oliver continues, stress creeping in. "Sammy didn't say much but I imagine it isn't good, prepare yourself. I have some more calls to make," he adds, before clicking off and leaving Luke with only the sounds of sirens in his ears.

Less than a minute later, he's taking a sharp turn onto Liberty Street and spots the empty cruiser 1504 parked just outside the fenced in property. Sliding to a halt that burns more rubber than strictly necessary, Luke throws his vehicle into park and rushes for the gaping hole in the fencing.

The rest of the street is deserted but his ears pick up the faintest sounds of approaching sirens; the EMT's and backup is on the way.

Scrambling through the hole, Luke doesn't feel the sharp ends dig at him as he heads for the open door. Rushing inside, he pulls the small penlight from his pocket and flicks it on, trying to see clearly through the dim.

"Swarek, Peck, where are you?" he shouts into the quiet.

( _the sirens grow closer_ )

Straining his ears, he doesn't catch a response, so he sets off into the house at a jog until he reaches the stairs. A quick glance shows the broken in door beneath the stairs and he aims for it, once again shouting out for the officers at the top of the stairs.

This time, he hears something at the bottom of the stairs.

He thunders downwards, taking in the cramped hallway and the open doorway at the end, illuminated by a flashlight propped onto a bed frame. Just through the frame, he can make out the shape of Swarek blocking the view of the room, but sees no signs of Peck.

( _dread curls low in his stomach_ )

Stuffing the penlight away, he moves around the broken bits of furniture carefully until he's only a few feet away from Swarek. When his foot collides with the bed frame, causing a screech of metal against cement and the flashlight to bobble dangerously, Sam jumps and turns to face him.

( _the fear grows, a surge through veins, because Luke has never once seen Sam look this broken_ )

The uniformed officer is ghost white, lips pressed tightly together, either to keep in a scream or vomit, Luke doesn't know, and he's shaking. Full body trembles wrack their way through his body and Luke knows instantly that whatever is in that room is not good.

Very not good.

"Oliver called me," Luke explains, worried when Sam doesn't really react.

The two have never been on good terms, but right now, Luke is scared for Sam. Because Swarek looks like he's holding himself together with nothing but sheer force of will.

Nodding jerkily, Sam opens his mouth and closes it a few times, at a loss for words. Eventually he breathes, "I don't…" before trailing off with a lost look on his face.

"He said you found them?" Luke asks, pressing for answers even as he moves closer to the doorway.

He doesn't expect Swarek to flinch bodily and nearly reaches out to steady the officer. Something that sounds like a mockery of laughter, dark and twisted and broken, breaks free from Sam and he steps back, finally letting Luke see inside the room.

He wishes he couldn't.

Unlike Swarek, he doesn't take in the details. He doesn't see the food or the water, nor the chains or the tally marks carved into the wall.

He just sees the dirty mattress.

The half rotted blankets.

The two bundles of bones and flesh that could've once been Officers Collins and McNally, but are now just shells, peering at him with fearful eyes and snarls on their cracked lips.

Finally, the noise that danced around the base of his spine, something haunting that he couldn't place and thus ignored, is realized.

It's them.

The chicken sandwich Luke had eaten for lunch is quickly re-acquainted with the outside world, forming a small puddle of sick just on the outside of the prison.

"My god," he breathes through bile and tears.

Crouched next to the mattress with her hands being kept carefully to herself, Gail shoots him the quickest glance, filled with the same things he's feeling.

Horror seems the most prominent.

"They won't let us near them," she whispers and all three of them break a little more when that statement is voiced aloud.

Swallowing another surge of bile, Luke steps carefully into the space, distantly noting the thickness of the door and the industrial strength bolt on it. Two sets of animalistic eyes track his movements and the keen cuts off, Andy making a curious chirp and Nick shrugging, a quick flutter of his fingers against blankets communicating something Luke will never understand.

"Have they said anything?" Luke asks softly.

Gail shakes her head and Sam speaks up for the first time. "I don't think they remember how."

( _a knife to the heart, sharp realization that Nick and Andy have been trapped here, in this hell, with nothing but themselves and their minds for company, slowly being driven mad by hunger, thirst, and isolation_ )

It's then that Nick emits a curious set of syllables, snapping every attention to him save for Andy. She remains curled at his back, head draped over his shoulder, considering gaze dancing between the three police officers.

When all Nick is greeted with is a heavy silence, he tries again, brow furrowing and face twisting in concentration.

"Rrrrru rrllllll?" he repeats, accompanied with a lilt at the end signalling a question.

Gail looks at Luke and Sam helplessly, wanting to reach out and touch him again to confirm he's real but well aware of what happened last time. So she just flaps her hands, a unconscious twitch, and tries, "what?"

Nick growls and Andy sighs, rolling her eyes, fingers creeping out to wrap around the paperback book Nick has been guarding to his chest possessively. Gently, she extracts the object and it disappears in the folds of their blankets, while Nick finally stares Gail dead in the eye and tries a third time, voice cracking with dis-use and rough.

"Rrrr you reallll?" he asks, stumbling over the r's and l's, but finally emitting words that all the occupants in the room can understand.

( _hope, desperation, caution, fear, terror, can this be hope, the answer is very important_ )

Luke thinks he might throw up again.

Sam looks like he wants to beat something into the ground and watch it bleed.

Gail thinks, in that moment, that she should have never have become a cop. Never picked up the badge, never followed in her parents footsteps, never. Because if she hadn't, she wouldn't be here, trapped in a hell she could have never have imagined.

"Yes Nick, we're real," Gail states in a level voice she doesn't feel.

This time it's Andy how speaks, a slur of sound she repeats immediately when she realizes only Nick can understand. "Prooof," she demands, a strange light in her eyes.

For a moment, Sam, Luke, and Gail all exchange a glance before Sam steps forward, moving around the mattress on the opposite side from Gail. When he sees the two tense, he stops and crouches.

If he moves too fast, he thinks they just might lose the two lost officers for good, lost to a trap in their minds.

Reaching out slowly, he holds a hand out to Andy, making sure to keep about a foot of space between himself and the tangled bodies. "Here. Touch my hand. I'm really here. I promise. And I'm not going anywhere."

Andy frowns and has a quick discussion with Nick, who stares at Sam with open distrust, a series of finger movements and hums. He doesn't look away from Sam, but answers with a twitch of his shoulder.

After a long moment of contemplation, where Andy glances between Sam and Sam's hand, distrust morphing to a semblance of hope, she finally scuttles closer, moving behind Nick until she perches at the very end of the mattress, shrouded in her blankets and shoulder to shoulder with Collins.

"Prommise?"

"I promise," Sam answers, not daring to breathe as Andy slowly begins to reach out. When her skeletal hand and arm emerge from the blanket coverings, its a battle not to break, to not rush forward and scoop her into his arms and whisk her away from this place. He's cop enough to know that would be the worst possible idea.

She hums at him, still distrustful, but finally closes the last few inches of space between them.

As her fingers brush his, she jolts, clear shock on her features and its yet another blow to all the officers in the room.

"Real," she whispers in awe. Poking Nick with her other hand, she repeats, "real," and then.

They both start to cry.

* * *

 _A/N: The M rating will arrive as soon as we reach the hospital, where the details of what happened are revealed._

 _Until then, as always, enjoy._

 _Hearts always, A._


	6. Chapter 5

Until the possible ghost of Luke appears, Nick and Andy are torn between thinking the visions are real, that rescue has finally come, that they will finally be able to _leave_ , and utter despair, thinking that the fact they can touch ghosts means that they've died in their sleep and not on their own terms and that is _unacceptable_.

The patch on Nick's shoulder still tingles from where the Gail ghost ( _or is it Gail_ ) touched him, a faint thump of pressure and pinpricks.

Even with Andy's chin resting on the spot, it still feels strange, a foreign sensation after so long trapped.

As Nick tries to force back the keen of fear, his grip on their bible, the only thing that holds the bits of their sanity, tightens dramatically. His free hand flutters his racing thoughts, the _fear, are they real_ a constant repeat as he and Andy try to sort out this new development together. The heavy metal around their ankles feels the heaviest it's ever been, just another pressure stealing focus. Andy's answers come in pressure against his spine and low hums of _maybe, the touch was real, maybe they are_.

But hope is a dangerous thing and they need to keep dancing around it until they can sort this out.

When a new sound, a new voice they haven't heard in their hallucinations or in real life in even longer, reaches their ears, its instinctive to flinch and snarl.

( _Andy only saw Luke after the first month, when the blonde detective had appeared and told her only that he was coming. and then he hadn't, and she hadn't seen him again_ )

Looking past the shape of the maybe Sam in the doorway, they see flickers of movement and hear, "Oliver called me."

Ignoring the voice that doesn't have a body, they go back to arguing over the evidence they have.

( _Nick is scared to believe_ )

With careful eyes still watching the doorway and how the shoulders of the maybe Sam seem to shake, Andy grouses _if they're real, we can go_ , while Nick rumbles _if they're ghosts, they'll lie_. As much as she wants to argue, Nick has pointed out the very real fear they share, the reason they usually ignore the hallucinations these days. If they allow that hope to blossom, believe the touch was real, they won't be able to handle it if it's just a lie.

Drawing her lips back in a snarl that's aimed both at Nick in irritation and the situation that makes her feel sick and scared, two things they had sworn off feeling some time ago ( _day sixty two_ ), Andy jerks when the voice of Luke manifests into Luke himself, staring at them from the doorway. Nick growls low in his throat, not liking the new development that is beating at his steadfast belief that the ghosts are lying.

( _the imprint of the touch burns, if he hopes though, he may burn_ )

 _Maybe real_ , he concedes, watching dispassionately as the probably Luke throws up outside their doorway. Andy doesn't bother being smug, because she's equally as terrified. As they listen to the sounds of sick, something they haven't hallucinated before, more and more of their carefully constructed wall of disbelief is chipped away.

Watching wearily as the potential Luke steps into their space, they study him and how he looks ragged, the same strange look in his eyes as the Sam and Gail that lurk on the edges.

In sync, their growls cut off as it becomes clearer that this likely real.

( _both feel panic claw at their souls_ )

Andy asks _real do we trust it_ , at the tipping point of accepting that the ghosts might just be people. Nick shrugs, unable to commit because if he does, there's no going back.

In the reverberations of quiet between them, they pick up Luke speaking to Gail, "have they said anything?"

Andy shifts when Sam speaks, a small motion that moves the blankets they're tangled in, their home, their shelter. The skin of her chin scrapes against the fabric covering Nick's shoulder and he can feel the, _I want them to be real_ from the fingertips on his jutting vertebrae and the chirp in his ear. Nick's free hand pauses before he taps, _me too._

"I don't think they remember how," Gail says and both twitch, slightly affronted. They haven't gone that crazy. Probably.

They remember how to speak just fine, thank you very much.

There just hasn't been a point and why waste energy when they don't need to.

The faces of Luke, Gail and Sam all twist into an expression they can't place, a curious mixture and Nick decides it's enough. It's time.

"Are you real?" he tries to ask, frowning when all eyes turn to him but no one answers. His tongue feels heavy and confused, unused to putting words into the audible realm and he thinks he may not have said it properly. Andy studies the people watching them and presses _try again_ in a simple squeeze of his shoulder.

"Are you real?" he asks, making sure to add the lilt at the end of the question; maybe it just wasn't clear he was asking something. The syllables slur out of his mouth, a mush of noise and it's even more evident that no one understands when Gail flaps her hands and mutters, "what?"

Growling in annoyance, because he knows perfectly well what he's trying to say and so does Andy, so why can't anyone else figure it out, Nick stares at Gail dead on. Feeling Andy shift behind him, he loosens he grip on their will when she reaches for it, understanding that they need to protect it. The paperback is slipped from his grasp gently and is tucked carefully between the folds of their blankets and their bodies.

"Are you real?" he forces out a third time, gritting his teeth against the strange feeling of using his voice for the first time in an amount of days he no longer remembers.

The weird look returns to all three of the faces surrounding their mattress and Nick waits, thinking he got out his words correctly.

"Yes Nick, we're real," Gail says, sounding odd. The flash of hope that sparked in Nick's chest swells and he can feel it thrum between himself and Andy. Hardly daring to breath, he stares at Gail, and listens to Andy demand for proof, twitching the shoulder beneath her chin when he sees that he's the only one who understands.

"Proof," she demands again, word sounding like crunched marbles in a long forgotten voice, but conveying the myriad of emotions running through them like fire.

Even after all this time, there is still enough cop in both of them not to rush blindly into rescue, not after all the tricks their minds have come up with over their time in this small room. They need more evidence than just Gail's touch and the word of a maybe ghost.

When Sam moves towards them, coming around the other side of the mattress, they flinch, an instinctive reaction of a cornered animal. They watch carefully, looking for any signs of lies in an illusion, as Sam crouches at their side, only feet away. The uniformed officer takes a breath and reaches out slowly, until his hand is close enough to touch.

"Here. Touch my hand. I'm really here. I promise. And I'm not going anywhere," Sam proclaims, meeting Andy's stare dead on. She frowns, asking _should I_ , to Nick who shrugs, a noncommittal, _if you want,_ as he stares at Sam distrustfully. It's their last wall; if Andy can touch the ghosts like Nick can, than they aren't ghosts and are real.

Real.

( _it's a tangible hope now_ )

Glancing between Sam and his extended hand, Andy considers her options; she demanded proof but now, in the face of its possibility, she wavers. Deciding to take the chance, after all they were nearly done writing their will anyway so what's the harm, she scoots forward, shifting under the thick fabric until her shoulder is pressed against Nick's.

"Promise?" she asks, searching Sam's features pleadingly. If this is a trick…

( _if it's a trick, it was right of them to record their last wishes, and the plan will go through, because to hallucinate rescue this vividly and have it crushed will destroy them_ )

"I promise," he answers, and she begins to reach out with her left arm, right still keeping a protective grip around the paperback. A peculiar expression flits across Sam's face as he watches her hand approach and for a second, Andy fears his disappearance. Humming angrily at the possibility, _don't you dare be a lie_ , she closes the last few inches and her hands make contact.

Jerking in surprise, she stares at the fingertips that brush against Sam's with utter shock.

"Real," she whispers, dropping the book, letting it get lost in the tangle of blankets, and poking at Nick with her now free hand. "Real," she repeats, feeling dam of emotions burst, hope and relief and _joy_ flooding through her chest like a tidal wave. It rises in her, hiccupping sobs bursting free and she tangles her fingers as tightly as she can with Sam's. Nick experiences a similar reaction, Andy's conformation enough for him to believe and he hunches over, sobbing into his hands.

Neither of them feels tears fall, but the utter swamp of relief rips them apart. They cry in jerking sobs and shaking breath.

For a long moment, they remain still save for the shakes in their shoulders, before Andy moves, shuffling off the mattress and ignoring the clink of her chain, and all but launching herself at Sam.

Startled, the uniformed officer catches her off balanced and falls backwards, arms coming around her tightly as he lands on his back. Even as the weighted chain begins to pull at her, the relief is so great that Andy ignores it and burrows into Sam, her blankets pooling around them like a forlorn cloak, hand still tangled in his.

Nick moves seconds later, after the briefest check to make sure the chains haven't been tangled, and moves across the mattress in a scuttle that doesn't seem possible with all the twists of fabric wrapped around him. Once at the opposite edge, he grabs at Gail and pulls her into a fierce hug, holding her to him even as she does to him, not knowing that she shivers because she can feel every bone in his body.

"Real, real, real," he whispers brokenly and Gail cries enough tears for the both of them.

As the sound of new footsteps reaches everyone's ears, the two missing officers don't react, save to tighten their grip and hold on tight.

( _they will never stop fearing that this is a dream, a lie, and that one day they'll wake up and still be alone and forgotten_ )

* * *

 _A/N: 95% of this is just Chapter 4 from Nick and Andy's perspective._

 _But it was an interesting chapter to write._

 _An important note on something that was brought up in a review; the timeline on Nick and Andy's mental state. Someone mentioned that this would appear after six years, not months, and I agree, to an extent. I am by no means an expert any area to do with mental health but I know I'm stretching a semblance of reality here and it's because this is a work of fiction. But on the flip side of that, there have been studies and documented cases where prolonged isolation resulted in both auditory and visual hallucinations after only two months. Nothing as vivid as what I have nor when held with another person (see Nick and Andy together), but still hallucinations due to prolonged isolation. So yes, four months with another person likely would not render these two to this extent in real life, but I'm not playing with real life and, for the stories sake, years missing would take away from the tale I'm telling._

 _Anywho, just wanted to touch on that, to clear somethings up._

 _Thoughts and comments always appreciated, they raise valid questions :) ._

 _Hearts always, A._


	7. Chapter 6

Luke has to hand it to the paramedics; they react a hell of a lot better walking into that hellish room than the three members of 15 Division did.

( _they've been tried and tested over their years together, murdered children, burnt corpses, the most horrible breaking of bodies in traffic accidents. they know how to keep their emotions beneath the surface and focus on the work. because saving people is the most important thing_ )

The two medics announce their presence as they move down the stairs and Luke turns away from the prison to watch their progress through the garbage littered hallway. They see him easily enough, backlit as he is by the dim bulb behind him, carrying their packs nearly over their heads in order to avoid bumping into anything.

"What do we have?" the lead medic calls out as she approaches, swearing softly as she kicks a moldy cardboard box by accident.

Luke struggles to find his voice, to find a way to put into words what he's pieced together has happened to McNally and Collins, can't quite fight away the thick lump in his throat.

( _splinters of glass, words drawn out like paper cuts_ )

"Um, what looks like long term forced containment of two of our officers, likely extremely dehydrated and malnourished, I don't know much else, or anything really, I'm just guessing" he forces out, a ribbon of words around a boulder of emotions, the description far too neat for his liking. It's putting a clean box around a horrible situation.

The first medic nods and Luke leans aside to let her by, careful not to step in the puddle of his vomit outside the door. He sees the moment the medic registers what's in the room, the thick swirl of pity, anger, disgust, fear, and sudden comprehension, before it's all shuttered away under a blank mask that Luke can't help but envy. "These are the two from fifteen that went missing a couple months ago?" she asks softly, setting down her pack just inside the doorway, keeping her movements slow and careful.

The two emaciated officers are still too overwhelmed by the knowledge that rescue is here and ignore the new presence. They huddle around Gail and Sam, still quaking limbs buried beneath stinking fabric, the juts of elbows and knees hidden away beneath the dirty grey. The officers themselves, Sam having sat up and is now cradling the ball of former Andy in his lap while Gail remains tangled in Nick's surprisingly strong grip for all the weight and muscle he now lacks, remain shell-shocked.

They can feels ribs and spines and emaciation under their hands and it is horrifying.

Luke nods in response.

"What can you tell us about their mental state?" the second medic asks quietly, a similar reaction rolling across his features. He sets his pack on a nearby stack of boxes, keeping out of view of the doorway as he unzips the bag and begins pulling out bags of IV fluid.

"Fragile, but they understand what's going on," Luke answers, before adding an "I think," because he isn't certain, can't know for sure just how much Nick and Andy are processing.

( _I hope_ )

The first medic scans the room quickly, lips tightening in a quick flare of reaction when she sees the chains that bind both officers to the floor. "We need to get those chains off them," she murmurs, taking the first IV that's passed to her. The bag of liquid sloshes gently in her hands and Luke's focus is drawn to it, the clear solution and welcome sight in comparison to the grime and horror behind them.

"There's a crowbar in the back of Swarek and Peck's cruiser," Luke says, eyes still intent on the bag of saline. "Do you think that'll work?"

He misses the look the two medics share, a second of communication, before the second shrugs. "I don't know," he says. "But it's worth a shot. If not, we'll have to get the fire department here."

Luke nods and rushes away, hating the surge of relief that tingles in his fingers.

Hates that he will take any excuse to get out of that pit, even if only for a moment.

( _the smell of his own sick curls tauntingly around his nose, a tangible reminder of his weakness_ )

When he returns, crowbar heavy in his hand, it's to find that Nick and Andy have been coaxed to release their clutching grips on their respective counterparts, and are currently huddled on the mattress once again. They press shoulder to shoulder, furtive looks darting between the medics crouched at their sides and the officers that hover over them; one of Andy's hands is tangled in the fabric of Sam's uniform pants and Nick has his head tilted so it rests against Gail's leg.

( _there's no colour left in either Sam or Gail, no energy, just a throbbing bundle illness and pain spreading through their veins like poison_ )

"We're going to give you guys IV's now, to help with the dehydration and make you feel a bit better, do you understand?" the first medic is saying, low and careful as she holds out the first of the saline bags for inspection. Nick and Andy study it carefully for a long second, before Andy gives a sharp nod and goes back to roving her gaze around the room and Nick murmurs a garbled "yess."

Luke's hand tightens reflexively around the metal when her hollow eyes skid around to meet his.

It's like looking at a ghost.

When they skid away, the breath Luke wasn't aware he was holding in explodes outward. It's a strange sensation on his ribs, a punch to the psyche.

The medics make quick work inserting the IV's into the gaunt waifs once they receive permission to continue, gently tying off the tourniquet around arms that are more stick than limb and waiting patiently for a thin vein to rise through thin flesh. Both Andy and Nick wince when the needles pierce their skin, pain amplified by the lack of muscle in their bodies. One of them, try as he might Luke can't tell which, lets out a gurgle of sound that cuts off abruptly once the tourniquets are released.

"Can each of you hold up these bags?" the first medic asks, directing her question to Sam and Gail, jerking their attention out of the depths of their dark thoughts. "They need to be held up and we would like to make sure there's no other injuries," the second one adds, directing the second half of his statement to the two former officers huddled on the mattress, holding up the bag of saline he's cradling carefully to Gail as he speaks. With a shaking hand and a jerking nod, she reaches out and takes it, holding it to her chest with a shaking hand, not once looking away from Nick. After a second, Sam does the same, fingers curling and uncurling against the pliant plastic.

Luke is suddenly jolted back to a memory of when he hated Swarek, hated how the dark haired man could make Andy laugh easily, back before he ruined everything. He remembers wishing Sam could suffer a little.

The suffering in the uniformed officers eyes is something Luke would never wish on anyone.

"Therr ar no more injuriesss," Andy mumbles, something defiant and irate flicking into her eyes and Luke very nearly cheers at the sight of it.

( _the lion heart is there, buried so deep and so far it may never fully return, but it hasn't been fully declawed yet_ )

The medics take her answer in stride easily enough, even though the harsh grating in her voice physically hurts the members of 15 Division.

"Alright then," the male medic states, sitting back on his haunches and looking over his shoulder at Luke. "Let's get you out of those chains."

Luke crosses the threshold into the room for the first time, crowbar cold against his palm, and shudders when a sensation of ice crawls down his arms.

* * *

 _A/N: Finally, my brain is working again._

 _Thank you for your patients._

 _Hearts always, A._


	8. Chapter 7

Distantly, they both acknowledge the new presences when the medics step through the doorway, but neither is willing or even capable of reacting to this new development just yet. As Andy balls up against Sam's chest and Nick refuses to release his steadfast grip on Gail, their minds simply won't cooperate and create a response.

This is _real_.

The taste of freedom licks at their tongues sweeter than any of the treats they had both remembered and imagined over their time in this prison.

While their ears to register the sounds of voices and footsteps, they can't quite release themselves from their frozen state. Instead, Andy clutches tightly to Sam, letting his scent and the feel of his Kevlar vest ground her even as he shifts to a sitting position, and Nick tries to burrow himself into Gail's hair. They want to drown themselves in Sam and Gail, want to crawl inside and stay there, because the thought of letting go of them now is _terrifying_.

( _even though they believe this is real, that Sam and Gail have finally come for them, if they wake up and they have nothing to hold onto, that'll be the end. the feel of fabric and flesh is grounding, important, vital, the loss of it would be catastrophic_ )

They don't know who's shaking more; them trembling with bones that rattle against one another in both their perpetual cold and emotional overload or Sam and Gail, disbelief, horror, rage, illness a heady bundle grinding in their chests. The four are all tangled limbs and shuddering breaths.

( _transcendent, it's easy to feel the hunger, thirst, loneliness, loss as it shakes into the physical realm_ )

Sam and Gail are both crying, silent tracks of hot tears down their cheeks, red eyes stinging in the stagnant air, but Nick and Andy have no excess moisture left in them to spare, their emotional release is limited to the hitching sobs that make such horrible noises that Sam and Gail are terrified that the two missing officers might just shake apart in their arms. They sound like death rattles, a sick grind of sound.

As the four struggle to calm themselves, Nick and Andy before they make themselves sick, something their bodies can't afford, Sam and Gail so that they can get everyone the hell out of dodge as soon as possible, one of the medics clears their throat to bring attention to her.

It takes a long moment, Andy not quite willing to un-burrow herself from where she's curled up and Gail too entrapped by Nick's vice grip to pull back, before all eyes turn towards the door. Squinting through eyes that are certainly bloodshot, Sam notices that Luke has vanished and his brain stumbles backwards in time to process what his ears had picked up unbidden. When one of EMT's begin speaking, Nick and Andy flinch, an automatic jerk of starved muscles against voices they've never heard before.

"Can we get you two sitting on the mattress?" the female medic asks softly, crouching so she's eye level with Nick and Andy. When neither respond save to stare unblinking at her, furrows like trenches in their faces, she continues, unfazed. "We want to start you on IV's; it should help make you guys feel a little better."

When Gail feels Nick's grip loosen enough, she gently extricates herself, letting him tangle his fingers in hers when she sees a wild desperation leap into his eyes as she pulls back.

"I'm not going anywhere," she whispers in reassurance, the pain in her knees from kneeling on the cold cement for an extended period of time making itself known, but she pointedly ignores it. He bobs his head once, before turning his body enough to face the medics in the doorway, releasing his grip in favour of dropping his head against her leg when she stands.

Across the room, Sam has gotten to his feet, Andy still in his arms, and closes the gab between them and the dirty mattress.

( _too light, too light, a child would weight more, has weighed more, it's like holding a bundle of dented sticks, when will this nightmare end?_ )

Ever so gently, he sets her down, crouching at her side and taking her hands in his own. The fearful chirp of syllables tear at his heart deeper than any knife and he leans in to reassure her. "Andy, I'm right here, I won't go anywhere, just let the medics help you," he whispers to her, forehead pressing against hers. Her skin feels like paper; she presses back, eyes squeezing shut, before she leans back and nods, finally looking away from Sam. As he stands, he feels her tangle her fingers in the fabric of his uniform pants and he makes sure to stand close enough that they nearly touch.

Nick and Andy huddle up, small bolts of comfort calming them further by being in contact with one another. With quick flicks of their free hands, they flutter through a rainbow of emotions across the skin of palms, fingers communicating louder than screams.

 _Home, home, soon home, this is real, are we real, are we free, can we leave, let's go home._

Finally, when they both reach a strange new breaking point, they simply tangle the digits together and hold on tight.

( _the one constant through it all was the other_ )

"Very good," the female medic murmurs, offering up a smile meant to be comforting but Nick and Andy ignore in favour of darting their gazes around the room. As the two medics move deeper into the room, the male crouching by Nick's side and the female next to Andy, Luke finally returns from wherever the detective had vanished to.

"We're going to give you guys IV's now, to help with the dehydration and make you feel a bit better, do you understand?" the female medic continues, carefully repeating herself; they can see in her eyes that she doesn't know exactly how to approach them. But Nick in particular appreciates that she holds out the bag of saline for inspection, the clear liquid lighting a firestorm of need in both their chests.

They're thirsty.

Nick answers an affirmative, a drawn out "yess," while Andy nods sharply. As the two medics begin pulling items out of their packs, Andy flickers her gaze around the room once again, before finally looking Luke in the eye for the first time since the blonde haired detective had appeared. He looks different than what she remembers; the scruff that had been so well maintained before has gone unruly, a sort of manic light in those blue eyes.

She doesn't want to look at them anymore.

So she doesn't.

The feeling of a tourniquet tightening around their arms is foreign and strange and Andy whispers a faint, _weird_ , emphasizing it with a squeeze of fingers, Nick huffing in agreement.

The pierce of a needle hurts a lot more than either of them remember and Nick voices his complaint in annoyance, _ow, that hurt_ , before falling silent when the tourniquets are released and the pressure against their bones eases.

( _the storm is winding down, there's no more energy left in them to produce a response, they are sleepy and overloaded and hurt, hurt deep in their soul, so they're falling back bit by bit into a nothingness, where it's safe, where they don't have to think_ )

When the female EMT directs her attention to Sam and Gail, it's easy to feel the surprise through their uniforms, the sudden twitch of reaction, jerking back into the present. "They need to be held up and we would like to make sure there's no other injuries," the second one is saying and Andy suddenly realizes that the statement has mostly been directed at her and Nick. As Sam and Gail take control of the bags that drip cool liquid into their veins, Andy narrows her gaze at the male EMT, irrationally irate with the man.

"There are no more injuries," she tells him, sparks of fire coming into her voice even as she trips over the words, tongue getting tangled in her mouth as she speaks.

They are fine.

They are whole.

( _they are not fine. they are not whole._ )

"Alright then," the medic says, sitting back and looking over his shoulder at the Luke that continues to haunt the doorway. "Let's get you out of those chains," he tells them, even as he stares at Luke, Luke with the crowbar in his hands.

The grip Nick and Andy have on one another goes white-knuckled.

 _Off, they're coming off!_ Nick growls, the sound like consonances trapped in his chest, and Andy nearly shakes out of her skin in excitement, eyes wild and wheeling, the trembles causing the chains themselves to rattle. They can barely contain themselves, and it's a battle to sit still, especially when the threshold to their prison looms only feet away, but they manage, staring avidly and unable to release their clutch on each other's hand, as Luke walks over and sets the crowbar against the links.

He presses it between the smallest one, attached at the base of the cuff around Andy's ankle, and looks at the EMT's for their go ahead.

"Alright, I'm going to need you to stay very still," the female medic says softly. "So I'm going to hold onto your need to help keep everything still, are you okay with that?" she asks Andy, her heart going out to the waif of a woman shaking on that dirty mattress.

Andy nods in quick jerks, unable and unwilling to tear her gaze away from the crowbar and where it sits braced against the folded metal. She ignores the sensation of new hands on her leg, whines soft and low when Nick shifts against her shoulder, _soon both of us will get out_ , and tilts her head against his when he moans, _so close please let's go_.

With a nod, Luke moves, forcing strength into the crowbar, driving it like a wedge between each half of the metal link and it groans in protest. For a long second, where Luke swears softly under his breath, the metal doesn't give save for its noise, before the seam begins to part.

Andy and Nick stop breathing.

Their eyes nearly bug out of their skulls.

With another push of strength, the metal bends enough that it slides of the loop that connects it to the thick cuff and clatters to the ground with a rattle of finality.

 _Free_.

* * *

 _A/N: Ooh look, two chapters in two days, wtf?_

 _(I don't know either)_

 _Hearts always, A._


	9. Chapter 8

As the metal links clatter to the cold floor, Nick and Andy go completely still.

The vibrations shuddering through their skin, little ant steps of twitching muscles, bunch and release under the flood of adrenaline, cease and they don't dare draw in a new breath.

( _they can't breathe through this thick hope, swirling around their throats like a cat, digging in claws and there's no getting it off now_ )

Tentative, reborn with a searing elation, she wiggles her foot experimentally, ignoring the way tension bunches and rolls through the room at the sight of blistered and abraded skin that pokes its presence around the edges of the remaining metal cuff as it shifts with the movement. She wants nothing more in that moment to spring to her feet and bolt through the open door just across from her and the need surges like an angry ocean in her chest.

( _her body might not have the strength to move very much anymore, but she will be damned if she doesn't walk through on her own two feet_ )

Instead, she clutches Nick's hand even tighter and glares daggers at Luke, who has yet to break his staring contact with the damage and the metal around her ankle. "Now Nick," she hisses, a strange fear of being separated drawing fire into her words. Nick hums in accord, the small lilt rumbling through both of them, sparks in his eyes.

( _a storm tumbling over itself, brewing deadlier and stronger by the second, restraint wearing thin, they want out_ )

They're all wild eyes and sharp limbs as they wait, moving in a symbiosis now, a gentle rocking as they can't hold themselves still any longer. They don't care about the comments and gentle ministrations from the medics, they don't matter. In this moment, very little matters, just the drawing of their next breaths, the way they lean on each other, and how Nick is only seconds away from having his chain cut.

Having missed the way Luke, along with Gail and Sam, flinched at her harsh demand, Nick and Andy are intent on the crowbar as it's fitted against the weak link on Nick's chain. As the female medic dabs at the bits of abraded flesh she can get at that poke about the top of the metal cuff, Andy doesn't react even as a cool relief begins to creep in, the thin layer of ointment providing a long awaited numbing from the pain, but she can't enjoy it, not while Nick is still trapped. She presses closer.

She trills, a soft chirp of _almost, almost_ into the rough fabric of the blanket wrapped around Nick's shoulders. His whisper quiet sigh tells her more than anyone else knows.

( _hope, relief, free, fear, free_ )

The ghost of tears lurk in both their eyes.

With another push of muscle and an ear-wrenching scrape of metal protesting its abuse, Luke powers through the last bit of resistance the chain offers and suddenly, Nick is free.

For a long second, the two simply stare with wild eyes and jittering breaths.

There's something not quite right in their minds; they both feel it, the creeping grey, a thick mist trickling into their brains as they sit there, battered back and forth and back and forth by surges of emotions and sensations and thoughts that they can't control. They've found the razor edge of where sanity balances.

( _they aren't sane, not truly, they haven't tumbled over the edge yet. but with this culmination of events, so charged and powerful, they hover dangerously_ )

They are alone in that room, their prison, in that moment. The medics, Sam, Gail, and Luke don't matter, they don't exist, even though they are the harbingers of this moment. All that matters is one another and how they are no longer physically bound to this room.

With a jolt, their attention turns away from the abandoned chains on the concrete floor, and to the other. As they look at each other, overlooking the hollow cheeks and sickly pallor, the way their skin seems to hang off their bones and how their eyes are hidden back deep in their skulls, all they see is the reason they haven't gone entirely mad just yet. Nick and Andy have had each other through this entire ordeal and now, they are about to leave it behind.

One of the medics is speaking to them, soft words with an undercurrent of urgency, but neither care enough to register what is being said.

Andy is the first to release her grip on Sam's pant leg, untangling her fingers from the fabric and letting her anchor slip away.

She doesn't need it any more.

After a long second, Nick follows suit, disconnecting from Gail and pulling closer to Andy.

As they draw into themselves, that thick grey mist that roils around their heads like marbles at a children's clutches and obscures their vision until all Nick and Andy are capable of seeing is the open maw of the doorway and the dark stretch of hallway beyond it. They don't know what lies through the door, they never saw how they got their and only remember waking up in the prison, but it calls to them so loudly, they can't think in any means rationally through the buzz.

It's time.

They get their legs under them easily enough, drawing the heavy blankets tighter around their shoulders like cloaks as they do.

( _the clothes they have been left in here with have long rotted off their bodies, rips and tears and worn thin from trying to wash them clean in the sink, desperate to feel something clean against unwashed skin, only scraps remains, tangible memories bundled up in the corner of the washroom like the forgotten rags they have become_ )

Speaking in touches and sighs, as one, they move to stand.

When hands come at them from all directions, both snarl and hiss, fire flashing angrily in their gaze even as they bare their teeth.

They will do this.

They will walk out of their prison unassisted.

The arrangement of reaching hands withdraw in surprise, and stay back when warnings continue to rumble in Nick's chest and Andy hisses like a cornered cat, ready to lash out with broken nails should someone try to stop them.

( _that silken strand of freedom has expanded, growing talons and pulling them into its grip, they can't see through it. no one else matters, nothing else matters, but walking out that door_ )

When Luke steps in front of them to try to halt their progress, his light eyes taking in how they sway dangerously with each step and not understanding that this is something _non-negotiable_ , they draw up short, terrible protests spearing from their lips.

"We are walking out," Andy snarls, face twisting horrifically as she speaks, the desperation turning into rage. "So move."

Whether Luke understands the words themselves or not, he does understand the urgency and venom in Andy's tone and moves. He steps to the side, hands up in a sign of peace, and to Nick and Andy, he disappears into the grey.

When they take those last few steps to cross the threshold, the metal cuff that still rests heavily on their ankles, Nick and Andy pause just outside the doorway and look at each other once again.

( _delight, calm, light_ )

And they begin to laugh.

It's a garish sound coming from their abused throats, but it is pure and joyous and suddenly, for an instant, with happiness painted onto their faces and into the crease of their eyes, the two long lost officers almost look whole.

* * *

 _A/N: So I lost my rough notes for this that held most of the story arc and now I get to play, " what the hell was I planning on doing with this? "_

 _Regardless, enjoy and thanks for sticking with it._

 _Hearts always, A._


End file.
